


i guess this is growing up

by exhausted_em



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Fluff, Growing Up, Jack ends up happy, M/M, Smut, and descriptions of a panic attack in the second, basically i'm using this fic as a coping mechanism don't mind me, now wrries, theres some dubious consent in the first chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:05:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7147880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exhausted_em/pseuds/exhausted_em
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up is hard to do, but Jack does it anyway. A story about survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i guess this is growing up

Jack leans awkwardly into the side of the garage, listening to the sounds of the party in the background. He cas hear Kent holding court in the back yard surrounded by the breathy laughter of the girls who had flocked to him at the end of the game. Jack feels a black twist in the back of his gut as he thinks about the game, about the end of  what feels like his childhood. He’s 16- this is his last year in the u-17 leagues, his last year of of just being a teen playing to play.  He’d seen the scouts on the sidelines and he’d known what that had meant.

Jack takes a deep breath in an attempt to ground himself and instead ends up sliding down the rough side of the garage, relishing the scrape of the wood against his back. He knows, of course, that he should be out in the party dancing with girls and laughing with Kent and just generally enjoying what feels like the only normal bits of teenage experience he gets to have. But instead he pulls his knees up to his chest and tries not to think about the game. They won, yeah, but they won thanks to Kent he knows it, he know he played like shit,  that the scouts probably saw, that even now their calculating how much he’s worth, that his NHL career is doomed before it already began. All Jack loves is hockey. All Jack hates is hockey. It’s been this way for as long as he can remember, no use trying to change it. No use trying to tamp down the jealousy that rises in his throat whenever he sees how easy it is for Kent to just. Just exist under all the pressure. No use trying to stop...whatever else he felt towards Kent. It’s easier to just ignore those emotions, to just shove them to the side and focus on hockey.  

A girl, older than Jack though not by much, rounds the corner with joint held loosely between her fingers, clearly looking to light up. 

“Fuck man, I didn’t think anyone was back here” the girls says, already a little buzzed. 

Jack blushes deeply and stammers out a thickly accented “Sorry” before standing and turning to leave around the other side of the garage. But instead of letting him go with minimal human interaction, the girl laughs. 

“God, I shouldn’t be surprised by how many Canadians there are- afterall this is a goddam hockey party- but there are just so _ many _ of you” .

Jack pauses, unsure of how to react. The quiet stretches out between them and, desperate and anxious and painfully aware of the danger of getting caught with weed, Jack blurts out another “Sorry” in the hopes the girl will let him leave without further question. 

“Jesus,” the girl laughs “you look like you need a hit even more than I do”.

And Jack looks, cautiously at the joint in her hand and realises that he may never have a chance to do something this stupid ever again. He never smokes or drinks or in general does anything stupid during season.  But the season is over and he doesn’t start again until he returns to Montreal for the summer league in a week.  The girl notices Jack’s gaze and smirks.  

“You know, this is a lot for just one person.” the girl says, smugly, as she lifts the joint to her lips and lights it. “I could be persuaded to share.”. 

Jack doesn’t say anything, doesn’t dare to, just takes the joint from where the girl dangles it, precariously, between two fingers. He stares at it, curiously, and tires not to breathe through his nose. He brings it unsteadily to his lips and mimics the girl’s motions from a moment before, breathing in shallowly. The smoke is acrid and burns a bit, but Jack manages not to cough and feels a weird sense of pride. He suddenly wishes Kent were there, that it was Kent watching him with a smug grin and a wolfish look in his eyes instead of some random girl. He realizes that this girl could be anyone, could tell anyone about this, but the anxiety doesn’t have the same edge to it that it usually does. Instead of dropping the joint and walking away like he nows he should, Jack takes another, deeper hit and this time he feels it in his knees and behind his eyes, an unsteadiness combined with a light buzz . Again, the girl looks at him in a way that would usually put him on edge but right now, Jack has never felt more at ease. 

 

* * *

 

Jack has half a joint and 2 beers in his system and he feels good. His head is filled with white noise. Blocking out his thoughts, just focused on sensation. Skin against skin, Kent’s cologne, the grass beneath his feet, the girl he’s dancing with’s hands on his ass.  Everything feels good,  everything is good and before he knows what’s going on Kent is grinding on him for the amusement of the gaggle of girls surrounding them and who cares if Jack looks a little more into it than is strictly necessary? Who cares if Jack grabs Kent’s waist and pulls him harder into his crotch? Who cares if Kent can feel him half hard through his jeans? Kent doesn’t appear to, turns around and winks at Jack before separating them after a few, fantastic minutes. 

Jack’s not sure what time he ends up sitting around the a fire with Kent’s legs draped lazily across his lap, but he doesn’t care. The party was Kent’s, hosted in the backyard of his billet family while they were out of town, and so Kent has to stay til the end, right? And Jack, his best friend, is honor bound to stay with him until the night ends, right? Its his job. At least, that’s what Jack tells himself as he knocks back a fifth beer sometime after two in the morning, watching as the last teammate stumbles down the driveway, arm draped over a much more sober girlfriend who volunteered to drive him home. 

Jack stands up to follow them, shifting Kent in the process. Through the haze that’s settled in his brain he realizes that he should be getting home, but he stumbles almost instantly and Kent rises to catch him, unworried by how out of it Jack seems. 

“Bro, you’re lucky I stayed sober tonight” Kent chuckles, settling back down with Jack leaning heavily into his side. “ No way I’m letting you get in a car anytime soon. It’s good to see you relax, though. Like finally, dude, you deserve it y’know? You played great out there today- I looked like shit next you. It’s chill though I think the scouts liked us both. Man, wouldn’t it be dope if we played on the same team in, like, the future? Like….”

Kent continues to ramble animately , waving one hand around as he recounts the game, sliding the other one slowly up Jack’s thigh. Jack smiles contentedly, leaning into Kent’s touch and basking in the warmth of the fire and Kent’s voice. 

Jack’s never really let himself feel good before, not like this. Right now Jack isn’t boy, isn’t a brain- he’s just a body. All he wants to do is keep this going, is continue feeling this fucking good because it’s new and it’s great and Kent’s right, okay? He deserves this, he deserves to feel good. 

“Man, I’m just disappointed I didn’t pick up tonight, y’know? Kent whines, cutting into Jack’s train of thought.  And Jack thinks he sees Kent look sidelong, wanting at him, knows he feels Kent’s hand cupping his ass and suddenly that’s all he needs. He crashes his lips into Kent’s, still high and half-numb and filled with the white buzzing noise that blocks out his anxiety. And jesus, it’s good. Jack isn’t thinking, is tired of thinking, lets Kent drag him behind the garage and push him down on to the already dewy grass. 

(“This isn’t right”, part of Jack’s brain screams through the fog. “Go home. Sober up. It’s late and Kent is just horny and this isn’t what you want.”. )

But Kent’s lips are soft and his hands are calloused and they slide up Jack’s back and it’s just. It’s been so long since Jack felt this right, felt this wanted. And he thinks. They can just make-out, right? Two friends, two best friends, get cross-faded and make-out and laugh about this next day and it’s fine, right? (“But Kent is sober” Jack’s brain adds “And if you were, you wouldn’t be doing this”). Still Jack can’t bring himself to pull out of this haze of comfort and no consequences and the satisfying feeling of skin on skin and lips on lips. 

Kent grinds his thigh into Jack’s crotch and Jack lets his brain shut off, lets his body take control. He echos Kent’s movements and is rewarded by a moan and Kent going limp in his arms. Jack does what feels natural, flips Kenny off him and clambers on top,  starts to grind in earnest and soon they’re half fucking through their jeans and Jack can feel Kent’s breath in his ear. His hands grip Jack’s ass and he can just barely hear Kent whisper “God, Jack, just like that, just like that.  _ Shit,  _ yeah, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, to get you like this,  _ Jesus.”  _

Jack falters a bit, doubt creeping up his spine as the pleasant white buzz starts to fade just a bit. Does he really just want to be another one of Kenny’s one night stands, just a warm body for him to get off on? But before Jack can do anything, Kent is on top of him again, kissing his way down Jack’s chest and Jack, despite himself, inhales with the shock and the pleasure of it. Kent’s lips ghost down his stomach his stomach and soon, impossibly smoothly, Jack’s jeans are halfway down his thighs, his dick sticking out of the top of his boxers and Kent’s lips are on his navel and Jack doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t sure he wants this, isn’t even sure he wants Kenny like this, hasn’t let himself think about the possibly of wanting him like this. He’s always just. Shut down that part of his brain, hasn’t even let himself jack off to the thought of guys. But all of a sudden, it feels like, Kent is here and larger than life and grinding his erection into Jack’s thigh and Jack doesn’t even know if he likes it, just knows he likes making Kent feel good. 

And Jack goes stiff as Kent pulls his boxers all the way off, tries not to wince at the tickle of the grass on his bare ass, but Kent doesn’t even notice, just goes straight into a sloppy blow job and the only clear thought Jack’s had in hours flits into his mind and stays there.

“Kenny’s not very good at this, is he?”.

So Jack lies there, half stoned in the grass, receiving the first and worst blow job of his life. He screws his eyes tight and wills himself to come, wills this to be over, wills Kent to notice his discomfort and stop but Kent doesn’t really seem to be paying much attention to Jack at all. So after a few, awkward minutes Jack shifts his hips and puts on his best Parson-esque smirk  and chirps “Hey Kenny, why don’t you give me a turn, eh?” because he knows Kent wants it and at this point is willing to do anything to get his pants back on and he hopes his relief isn’t too visible when Kent straightens up and lets him pull his boxers back on and half button his jeans.   

Because he cares about Kenny, still wants to make him feel good even though the soft whisper of wrongwrongwrong in the back of his head that started after Kent’s lips first touched his has escalated into a dull roar. So he watches patiently as Kent stands up, wordlessly, and leans against the side of the garage. Braces himself as Kent unbuttons his jeans and pulls down his boxers.

And suddenly Jack is on his knees in front of Kent, looking at determinedly at the task in front of him. Kent’s dick is nothing Jack hasn’t seen before. Hell, Kent’s hard dick is nothing Jack hasn’t seen before, as Kent wasn’t very shy about masturbating on roadies but still. Jack stays there, unmoving, until Kent’s hands settle on his bare shoulders and he makes an impatient sound in the back of his throat and Jack just. Does it. Does what Kenny wants, without thinking too much about it. He lets it happen, lets Kent take control and set the pace, listens carefully for Kent’s warning and takes his load like a champ. It proves too much for his mouth and his spits Kenny’s cum into the grass by his feet. In short, he removes himself from the situation, treats like hockey, like a new drill to be learned and perfected. 

Kent’ sits down shakily next to Jack. Jack’s still kneeling, unsure of what to do until Kent pulls him into his lap and holds him there,  tight and possessive like always and Jack can’t help but hope that maybe things will be normal? Maybe things will be okay? 

But the rest of Jack’s high fades and he can’t help the black ooze that feels like it’s settled in his gut, can’t help the way his skin is starting to crawl. So he extricates himself from a half-asleep Kent and mumbles a goodbye and hopes that Kent won’t follow him to his car, but he does. Hopes that Kent won’t try to kiss him good night, and is relieved when he doesn’t. Hopes that Kent hasn’t noticed how his shoulders and knees are starting to shake, and gets in the car, and drives home like he’s fine.     

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add more once I figure out what this is.


End file.
